Pushed
by Light Flash
Summary: I'm alive! Not quite sure what genre this is, or the rating, but cussing is included. BtVS/AtS - Set after both season finales. Angel is free of the oceanic prison, and he learns that his work for his shanshu is useless, because another souled vampire has


Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy/Angel. Don't kill me!  
Note: I was bored, and this popped up. Be warned.  
  
I'm supposed to be sleeping.  
Instead, I'm hurting.  
My name is supposed to be sanctuary to the hopeless.  
But my name doesn't mean a fucking thing to me, now does it?  
I prefer axes to swords when I'm fighting. It has a heavy head, so I can get more power. It has a extra slow incline and leads up to a very sharp, shiny edge.  
But when I'm out of combat? Knives.  
The one I'm holding as a blade about as long as my forearm. Only one edge is sharpened, and it tapers to a point at the back. A good inch or two of the back is sharp, but that's it. A two fullers run along nearby the back of the knife.   
It's not about pain. Or, in some ways, it is. For one thing, pain makes you forget. Physical pain makes you forget about what's going on, or what's tugging at you. And it's about control. You can make it stop whenever you want to. It's not like a drug. It's something you can stop easily. Just stop dragging the knife...  
But right now, my mind is too muddled.  
The last time that I saw her? It wasn't a good time.  
"We can't ever work this out," Buffy had said. "So we should go."  
It was an unbelievably short meeting.  
And most of the time, Buffy was ranting. And it had hurt.  
She might as well have rammed a knife into my heart. Twice.  
"I'm sorry. I can't be in your club. I never murdered anybody."  
That hurt.  
And now, it's rising again. It's overpowering. This can't ever be right. Ever.  
And through the entire Faith fiasco, she never said she was sorry for hitting me. I probably deserved it.  
The knife digs slightly into my arm, and I drag it forward, maybe two inches. I pause for a moment.  
Buffy was really the only person who could ever hurt me like that. Conner came into a close second. For awhile, I thought he actually liked me. But then... but then, he hates me so much that he decides that I should suffer. I'm not quite sure how I got out, but I did. And it was because of my son, my own blood, that I was trapped there in the first place.  
Hey, what do you know, blood isn't thicker than water.  
In a sort of twisted fun, I've carved a cross on my forearm. Hurts a bit more, lasts a little longer...  
I throw the knife. This is sick, I can hear people saying. It's not right, you're not right, get the Hell away from me.  
A fly is pinned to the wall by the accuracy of my toss.  
There is no mission in life anymore. The moment that I stepped into this cheap, sleazy motel, Whistler conveyed the message that The Powers that Be didn't want to deal with my wild moodswings and picked out a replacement. It would be him, not me, that gains the reward.  
And life makes me fall on my face again.  
Damn them. Damn them all. I worked hard, I tried to get my shanshu... All my work will have been for nothing. I might as well join the ravenous pack of vampires drinking from the population. Every one I kill, ten more appear in its place.  
I'm tired of holding back. I can't stand it. Things want to escape, violent things, but I couldn't let them. My reward was all too great...  
And now it's gone.  
In a burst of rage, I retrieve the knife and drive it through my hand, reveling in the pain.  
The other souled vampire is going to die.  
  
"Dark is a way and light is a place,  
Heaven that never was  
Nor will be ever is always true...."  
-Dylan Thomas  
  
  
Buffy arrived home, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep immediately. She dragged herself up the stairs, leaning on the railing for support. As soon as she reached the top of the stairs, the doorbell rang. Buffy groaned.  
"Dawn, could you get that?" When she didn't reply, Buffy groaned, loudly. "Fine, I'll get it." She trooped down the stairs, cursing the vampires that had ganged up on her the last four nights in a row.  
The doorbell rang again. "All right, hold your pants on," Buffy muttered. Hoping that she didn't look too bad, or that she wasn't bleeding too badly, or that she hadn't broken a rib, she opened the door. The messy peroxide blond was easy to recognize, even if it did look like had been crying for a week, or that his hair was a mess. "Spike."  
"Buffy."  
Spike collapsed at her doorway, weeping.  
  
The cab driver looked at me through the rear view mirror. Or at least, he tried to. When he couldn't see anybody, he adjusted it just a little. "So what's a guy like you going to Sunnydale for? It's dangerous," he said.  
What should I say? 'I'm looking for the replacement vampire with a soul'?  
"Looking for a girlfriend?" The guy changed tactics.  
Underneath the heavy cloak I adopted for the endless chill, I pulled out a knife, my eyes narrowed.  
"I'm hurting." I carved crosses onto my arms.  
  
Something broke.  
"How the fuck could you?!" A dish crashed against the floor, shattering into a thousand different pieces.  
"He was evil! What did you want me to do? Coddle him? Love him?" Conner ran outside in disgust.  
"He wasn't evil! He didn't fucking bite Holtz! He hasn't bitten anyone in a long time! And even if he did, he'd feel guilty for taking a life and he wouldn't get his shanshu!" Gunn followed.  
"Conner, I have a tape..." Fred came outside meekly, holding a tape.  
"How do you explain the fang marks?"  
"Were they two fangs?"  
"Yes, just like a vampire has!"  
"That's wrong. Their bites don't look like that." Gunn's eyes darkened. "It's a full bite. Their fangs go deeper, but their other teeth grow sharper, too, and they bite with that also."  
Conner looked thoughtful.  
"I have a tape of what happened to Holtz. Turns out that they were near a weird little camera thing hidden in the bush. It's great technology, but I haven't tapped into their feedback to see where it's from." Fred hesitated. "Do you want to see it?"  
"I would like that very much," Conner said, enunciating his words. A heavy layer of doubt resided.  
  
I stepped onto the curb, breathing in the Sunnydale night air. For some reason it was revitalizing, sending fuel down my body, healing my wounds quicker. I let slip a frown. I'm still cold. Why am I always cold? Is the water still around me?  
Why am I cold?  
The knife is quick at work again and I walk towards the doors of the mansion. For a moment, I'm staring, the knife held at my side.  
Drip.  
Drip.  
Drip.  
Drip. Drip.  
Drip. Drip. DripDripDripdripdrip  
I reach out and open the door through the cloak, ugly rivers of dark blood slowly falling from my arm. It hurts like Hell, but then again, my mind isn't the best place to be, either.  
The mansion is musty, looked unvisited and untended to since I left. I should have some blood packets left in the 'fridge. My hunger is threatening to control me, to remind me how long it's been since I've had blood of any type, how much blood my destructive habits have cost me.  
I move to the kitchen, nearly running. I need it, I want it, the crave is unbearable...  
I step on my cloak, and step on it again as I try to get off it and crash onto the floor, thrashing my arm.  
I need, I need, I need, I need Ineed IneedIneedIneed  
I rip the cloak off, scrabbling over it on all fours. The hunger is so overpowering that I can't think of anything else.  
I sit on one knee and rip open the 'fridge door, nearly breaking it. Instantly I'm assaulted with a vile smell, a smell that leaves me whining. The 'fridge has broken and the blood inside has congealed, leaving me nothing to eat.  
I stagger back outside, slamming the door shut behind me.  
God, I need blood!  
Maybe I can find a rat, a rabbit, a... an anything!  
Something moving with blood...  
There.  
Silent. Can't let the prey find me.  
Wait.  
Patience.  
My face had already changed into the vampire visage.  
It's coming.  
Go!  
I ran at it, wrapping my hands around the thick torso and bowling it over. My teeth find it's neck and bite.  
I drink, worrying only about numbing my hunger.  
Oh my God....  
I drop the blond lady onto the ground, backing away slowly.  
I killed her. I killed her. I killed her I killed her I killedherIkilledherIkilledher...  
I'm a murderer.  
I'm...  
  
"Spike, what the Hell happened?" Buffy asked, dragging Spike onto a couch.  
"My name..." His voice hitched on a sob, "...is William!" He curled protectively. "I'm William! William, not Spike! I'm William! William William William William..."  
His voice grew softer but no less hysterical.   
"Spike?" Buffy wasn't sure what was going on yet.  
"He wanted..." Spike/William shook his head. "I wanted to kill you... I wanted to chain you somewhere... the mansion on Crawford street..." another sob, "and I wanted to torture you, endlessly, and then..." he forced the word out, "drink... from you and... and... turn you..."  
"I know," Buffy said. She was still very confused. And tired. Unabashedly, she yawned.  
"I went... I went to get the chip out... and... then..." Spike shook his head, still crying.  
  
"Oh my God." Conner unlinked his fingers from the couch, staring in shock. How could.. Why did.. "No. No. That didn't happen. You... you fabricated this."  
"Oh yeah, we picked up a dead body and Justine agreed to play the part." Gunn's tone dripped sarcasm. Conner shook his head. Rapidly.  
"No. No. It couldn't have happened like that... That means that... but... My life has been a lie?"  
"What?"  
"My entire life... I... Angel.. my father..." Conner babbled incoherently for awhile.   
"Slow down, kid." Gunn stood and started to pace.  
"I'm.. I'm going to... yeah." Dazed, Conner trudged up the stairs.  
  
...evil.  
I can't deal with this. I killed someone. An innocent!  
I.  
Killed.  
A.  
Person.  
I'm evil.  
Oh God, no! I need to.. I need to talk to someone. Talk. Brood. No, Talk!  
Buffy. She would understand. She would help. Or maybe she would freak and lock me up and hope what happened with Faith didn't happen to me...  
No. She would understand. She could help.  
  
"Spike... William..." Buffy was really at a loss. It would help if she knew what was wrong with Spike/William, but...  
"...and then I got... I got my soul back, Buffy." Spike looked up at her with tears of joy and haunted eyes. "I got my soul back."  
"Oh my God." Buffy wrapped her arms around the sobbing mass that was Spike.  
A mirror shatters, but Buffy didn't hear it in her thoughts.  
  
It's him. Spike. Of all people. It's him I need to kill, It's him that I need to destroy...  
But Buffy is so happy with him... She's forgotten me.  
She's forgotten me.  
I leave her house quietly, a shattered mirror the only outlet of my grief. Sticking to the shadows, I draw out my knife again.  
  
"This world can turn me down but I  
Won't turn away  
And I won't duck and run, cause  
I'm not built that way  
When everything is gone there is  
Nothing there to fear  
This world cannot bring me down  
No cause I'm already here, oh no!"  
-3 Doors Down, "Duck and Run"  
  
"What's going on?"  
"I'm not sure, I can't see. Hang on a minute."  
Machines whirred.  
"There."  
"Master'll get mad."  
"Master, Master, it's always about the master."  
"Remember what he did to that new fledgling?"  
"That was sick, even for me."  
"The only reason why we're alive is because he'd get suspicious if two vampires were in a car nearby him."  
A period of silence while two humans hunched over a small screen, displaying someone sitting in a tree uncomfortably close to them.  
"I'm bored. Let's play music."  
"Be careful, he's a vampire, remember?"  
"He can't have that good hearing. Come on."  
The first man switched the radio on. The music blared on, considerably louder than how the man wanted it to be on.   
"HERE I COME HERE I COME HERE I COME I CAME I SAW I KILLED HERE I COME..." The music was unbearably loud and the man winced, turning it off immediately.   
"Oh shit, where'd he go?"  
Something landed on the car roof.  
Dead silence.  
"Branch," the second man decided, his voice unsteady. "Branch."  
An axe shattered the windshield.  
  
Morning.  
The sun smiled down at everyone, spreading it's warmth and sparkling rays.  
Except me.  
How could it shine on me? It deliberately shies away from me, or keeps the rays just above me.  
It's not fair, I should die! I've never felt this... felt this guilt before. Then I again, I didn't need to. For over 100 years, I haven't needed to feel guilt.  
The only time I've felt sadness was when Drusilla left me for a stupid chaos demon. Then I'd bawled my heart... my... my... my something out to Willow.  
I look down at the shards of the shattered mirror. Buffy doesn't notice them.  
I do. I just stare into the blank emptiness of them, of how they refuse to show my image, of how I can't just see myself...  
I pick up a shard of glass, bring it to my arm, and...  
  
"Don't." Buffy didn't even need to look up from her cooking. She knew what the blond vampire was thinking about. "Don't."  
"Why not, slayer?" Spike looked up at her with tired eyes, but dropping the shard like she asked.  
"It's not worth it." Buffy flipped a pancake.   
"Why the Hell not?"  
"Will it bring all the people you killed back?" There was a silence only interrupted by the batter sizzling on the grill. "Exactly. Now you can either kill yourself which would only make the evils of the world stronger and will eventually overpower the light, or you can help save people, make amends, do good, redeem yourself and what not." Buffy scraped at a pancake. She fit her spatula underneath the cooking pancake and tugged at it. She kept tugging and when the pancake wouldn't give, she heaved.  
The pancake shot upward onto the ceiling, the batter sticking and unwilling to fall.  
"Rats."  
  
The red ink falls down into my hands, onto my knife, sliding over the floor...  
Only it's not red ink. It's blood. It's unholy, tainted blood.  
My blood.  
I turn my head a fraction to stare at my captive. The one I haven't fully drained. I smirk. And I know he sees it.  
"Who sent you?" I advance a little.  
"No one."  
It's stupid to lie. I know someone sent him. He's already been claimed as a messenger by a vampire master.  
"Who sent you?" I advance more, leaning in close enough to touch him.  
He flinched from me. Chains rattled as he pulled as hard as he could on the manacles. His hands are chained above his head, and he is suspended so his feet, chained to the floor, barely touch the bottom.  
I put the knife in a small ankle sheath. I look over my tray of things that hurt people. I didn't have much time to gather an extensive array of torture implements, so I improvised.  
I pull a sharp letter opener and drag it lightly against my palm.  
"Who." I press the letter opener against the back of the guy's hand. "Sent." I put a little pressure. Just a little, don't want to scare him yet. "You." The man immediately screams as I drive the letter opener through his hand.   
  
"I'll get it!" Buffy hummed, jumping down the stairs and forgetting to stop in time, colliding into the door. She fought off an impish giggle and opened the doors, smiling.  
"Hello, Buffy. I wish we were to meet under better circumstances."  
"Wesley?" Buffy squinted, examining the man before her. His hair was untamed and slightly longer than last time she had seen him. He had changed from a suit to comfortable black slacks and a gray shirt. He looked currently as though he had a hangover.  
"We can't find Cordelia, and wondered if she were here," a brunette asked from the back. Buffy resisted the urge to snort.  
"She's not here. Like she'd come back to Sunnyhell anyway." Buffy tossed some of her hair over her shoulder.   
"Well, we also came to tell you of Angel's disappearance, also." Wesley adjusted his glasses and his eyes flicked downward.  
Buffy cringed. "He's not...?"  
"He might," a tall bald guy said quietly.  
"Gunn! Don't talk like that!" The brunette hugged him just the same. "He can't be dead. If he were dead... well, anymore dead than he was... than he wouldn't come to see us and then... well, he wouldn't be alive! Or as alive as he can get." The brunette looked flustered.  
"Well, come on in then." Buffy threw open the door and the three strangers, plus Wesley, entered her house.  
"Now, we hate to impose, but we just came to tell you of their disappearance and hope that you've seen them." Wesley looked up at her. Suddenly, his face took on an appearance of a wizened war veteran.  
"Maybe you should stay," Buffy said, biting her lower lip. Her eyes were misting. Her eyes wandered over the group of four...  
And stopped on one. He looked a lot like...  
But that wasn't possible.  
Was it?  
  
They're here.  
I can't believe it.  
They're here. At least, Conner is here. Out of habit, my face changes into it's demonic visage and I feel the bloodlust coming quickly. My hunger screams at me, my hate screams at me, my soul screams at me.  
I want to drink him. Underneath the cloak, I pull out the knife again.  
Crosses form on my arms. Though I can't see it, I know that the lines are turning red rapidly. Some of them bleed. Some don't.  
All of them hurt.  
With effort, I turn around and walk away. A tiny drop of blood splatters onto the ground. I hesitate, and turn around.  
He staring.  
I fade into the shadows. Where I belong.  
  
"You haven't told Wesley yet."  
"Obviously."  
"You were supposed to."  
"I... I can't." A quick, shameful gaze upward, and then back on the floor. "I caused this mess. And I know he's not in the ocean because if he were, then I wouldn't have seen him yesterday while patrolling."   
  
Buffy tapped her stake rhythmically against the headstone.  
Tap. Tap. Tap.  
One was behind her. But she kept tapping her stake.  
Tap. Tap. Tap.  
The vampire advanced, slowly. Buffy grinned. She had a fight on her hands.  
  
"Hey guys! I'm home!" Buffy cheerily banged through the door, slipping her stake in a pocket. Her happy demeanor faded as she saw the shards of a mirror and bits of wood. Hesitantly, she kicked some slivers out of her way and the door swung shut behind her.  
"Guys?" She wandered into the parlor. A hand flew to her mouth of it's own will as she took in the damage. Windows were shattered, tables were crushed, drapes were ripped. A single red note was taped to the wall.  
Buffy went up to it, feeling furious. That faded away into shock.  
"Acathla," Buffy said, reading off the note. She plucked it off. It was written in Angel's neat, precise writing. She left the house before the first police car could arrive.  
  
"Damn." Buffy lifted her eyelids. She had been tied to an iron chair that was bolted to the ground. One arm was shackled to the back of the chair and the other was placed in her lap. Her legs were strapped to each chair leg. After testing the bonds, she found that they were too strong for her to break.  
"Buffy's up," a helpful voice called.  
"Anya?" Buffy swung her head and spotted all of her friends, strapped to a chair the same way she was. Except Willow, who had her mouth taped and both hands firmly shackled behind her back. And Spike was hung in front of all of them, displayed like a trophy.. He was chained with both hands on top of his head, both feet chained to the floor.  
"Great." Buffy squinted, watching a figure come out of the shadows. It couldn't be...  
"No."   
"Yes."  
"Surprise, Dead Boy's here." Disgust was dripping off of Xander's words.   
"An...Angelus?" Buffy hoped.  
"Wrong, beloved." Angel looked up from polishing an old-fashioned black pistol to smirk. "Very, very wrong."  
Buffy flinched.  
"What are we doing here?" Anya said, trying to divert the topic. She was the only one that hadn't met Angelus before, and consequently wasn't thinking back to those times.  
"We're going to play a game."  
"Do we need the chains? They would only hamper us."  
"They're fine." Angel pulled out one bullet. "The game is called Russian roulette." He loaded the pistol and spun the chamber. After a few seconds, he stopped the spinning chamber. "What happens is, you hold the gun up to your head and you fire it. If you're lucky, you live. If not, well..." Angel smirked.  
"What makes you think we'll do it?" Buffy asked stoically.  
"If you don't, I may have to resort to killing some people for amusement." Angel twisted the gun and handed it to Buffy, butt first. "If the bullet doesn't go off, the gun is passed to another person until it does. And then I replace the bullet, spin it, and it starts again."  
Buffy stared at the black gun. Hesitantly, she grabbed it with her free hand. Angel slid backwards, grabbing a previously unnoticed semi-automatic.  
"Do it."  
"Buffy, don't!"  
Buffy's shaking hands pulled the gun up to her temple. Oh God, this is suicide! I'll die! The bullet will kill me!  
The semi-automatic swung to Giles. "Wouldn't want him to die, would we?" Angel's mouth quirked.  
Buffy's hand quivered.  
"Don't do it," Giles said. "Don't worry about me!"  
The butt of the rifle slapped him across the face.  
The barrel twisted in her hair.  
Everything slowed down.  
Angel's twisted smile.  
Yelling voices.  
Haunted eyes.  
She pulled the trigger.  
Collective voices screaming as one - "NO!"  
An empty click.  
Waves of relief crashed through her body and she threw the gun across the floor with as much strength as she can muster.  
Her hand was shaking.  
The cold, black gun was picked up and held out to... Dawn.  
"No." Buffy's voice was so soft, so shaky... So vulnerable.  
Angel wanted to fuck her. But Buffy couldn't know that. All she was focusing on was the gun, Dawn's shaky hand...  
"Take it." Angel smiled coldly, displaying all his teeth. It was more like a predator than anything.   
"Don't do it, Li'l Bit..." Spike bit his lower lip. If only he was strong enough, if only he had known, if only he wasn't so damn weak...  
"I don't want to," Dawn said forcefully.  
"That's showing him!" Xander encouraged.  
Angel quirked an eyebrow. "Do it or everyone else dies."  
"You won't do it." A tiny quake of fear trembled in her voice.  
"Won't I?" His smile was blinding, freezing. He dropped the pistol in Dawn's lap and picked up his semi-automatic. His sight found Buffy. Visibly, his finger began to tighten...  
"All right!" Dawn picked up the gun and held it to her head. Angel swung the gun down, so the barrel rested onto the floor and leaned on the stock. He looked amused.  
"Don't worry about it, she'll probably live," Anya said. "There was a five out of six chance she'd be saved. Buffy was unharmed, so now there's a two out of three chance. It's good odds."  
"Not good enough," Buffy hissed, clenching and unclenching her fists spasmodically.  
"Pull the trigger." Angel's voice was soft, but commanding and harsh.  
Dawn's hand trembled, and she halfway brought it down. But then she rested the cold metal against her temple.  
Suicide.  
No. She would live.  
To see another person die?  
She would live. And she would avenge them.  
She pulled the trigger.   
She jerked, spasmodically.  
A hollow click resounded.  
Dawn breathed again and tossed the gun, much in the same manner as Buffy had done.  
Angel picked it up and handed it to the person sitting beside her. Anya.  
Anya held it to her head, unable to hide the tremor in her hand. Always, before, she had never needed to worry about dying, it seemed impossible.  
"Fifty-fifty," Anya said with a weak smile.  
She pulled the trigger.  
She twitched.   
Blood created a gruesome splatter from the ejected bullet.  
A thin wisp of smoke wafted lazily upwards.  
Her head lolled backwards, her face a mask of fear.  
The gun clattered to the ground.  
A screaming silence.  
It was tiny, at first. So soft that no one could hear it. But then it escalated, echoing, expanding. It was cold, holding a twisted amusement.  
Angel's laugh was frightening.  
A thousand words burst at once, condemning, accusing, insulting.  
The eerie laugh held dominance over the voices, which quieted down into morose silence.  
"This is all your fault." Angel spun, facing Spike.  
"What?"  
"How?"  
"You weren't strong enough." Angel walked slowly in a circle around Spike. "It was pathetic, how weak you are. You can't do anything without the strength. Without the power." He stopped in front of him, clenching a fist and placing it on his chest. "Without power, you can't take action."  
"Hey, now wait a second..." Buffy tried.  
Angel ignored her, overriding her voice with his own. "And you will never have strength. You will always be weak. Because if you have power, you know you will want more. And you know that if to get more, you will kill. You will kill innocents. You will become a murderer."  
"Just like you?" Spike spat. Fear and realization shone in his eyes. Angel wasn't lying...  
"Maybe." Angel picked up the gun. He loaded a new bullet into it and spun the chamber. Then he handed it to Giles.  
"Why are you doing this go us?" Dawn asked, wiping tears off of her face with her free hand. Angel smirked, leaning on his semi-automatic.  
"It's Spike's fault."  
He did not elaborate, and no one asked.  
"Bloody Hell." Giles held the gun up to his head.  
He couldn't do this.  
For what seemed like eternity, he held the gun at his temple, thinking back on his life.  
The gun twisted as the trigger was pulled.  
The bullet discharged.  
Blood spilled down his face.  
Oh God...!  
The bullet only grazed his head, leaving a bleeding, stinging cut that didn't go too deep. But he had nearly shot himself.  
Himself.  
Suicide.  
Sin.  
The greatest sin.  
Suicide.  
Oh God...!  
Angel smirked, plucking the gun out of Giles's shocked grip. "That's cheating," he said. He stuffed the gun into his belt and lifted his semi-automatic, putting Giles into his sights.  
He pulled the trigger.  
The bullet hammered through his right arm.  
The next one tore through his left kidney.  
Right cheek.  
Left hand.  
Chest.  
More bullets continued to pound into him, turning into a bloody mass. He twitched, like he were alive.  
He wouldn't stop jerking.  
And through it all, Angel's teeth shone.  
"YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!" Angel stopped firing, staring at the offender. "FUCK YOU, YOU SICK BASTARD! GO TO HELL!"  
Buffy.  
Flame burned in her eyes - real, literal flame.  
"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN WHAT REASON YOU HAD TO DO THIS, BUT THIS HAS GONE ON LONG ENOUGH!"  
All of the shackles creaked and groaned and finally ripped apart, freeing all of the locked friends.  
"FUCK YOU!"  
Crackling energy built in her hands.  
"FUCK YOU!"  
The energy expanded.  
"FUCK YOU!"  
All of the doors flew open as the energy continued to grow, impossibly strong for an untrained witch.  
"*FUCK* *YOU*!"  
A crossbow bolt. It flew through the air and collided with thick flesh. A shocked silence overcame the crowd of onlookers.  
"You just... wouldn't die..."  
Angel fell to the ground and exploded in a pile of dust. The energy crackling around Buffy died down. The crossbow bolt had been coming towards her, to pierce her skin... and Angel had saved her.  
Angel.   
Saved.   
Her.  
"Well." Lilah blinked. "That turned out better than expected." She turned to look at Wesley. Her words died in her throat.  
"Ashes to ashes," he said.  
"Dust to dust," Conner continued.  
"Amen."  
  
"O villain! Thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this."  
- William Shakespeare, "Much Ado about Nothing" 


End file.
